Harvest - Thoughts
Tonight we had a pizza, 3-year aged parmesean (incredible), salami and wine (plus some liquor made with sweet Moscato grapes and some booze a Romanian friend gave me in Barcelona). As the end of the night neared, Giovanni, an Albanian man in his 40s who speaks no English, asked how old I am (JF translates when we speak to each other). I responded that I am 27. He told me that he is surprised because I am very "intelligente". I was flattered, but understandably puzzled. How could he make such a judgment without understanding anything that I say? Then it hit me...Giovanni thinks that I am smart because I don't say anything at all.
But Giovanni and I do say a lot to each other. We speak with our hands, our energy and our eyes. And as I sat at that table, knowing that I won't be able to verbally speak with most of the people I will encounter over the next year, I realized that it really doesn't matter.
I am suddenly totally comfortable understanding none of the conversation. I don't need to. I understand the language of comaraderie, the language of loyalty and the language of respect, and that's all I'll be needing.
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